


Electing to Care

by mattzerella_sticks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Apathetic Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Carpenter Castiel, F/M, Flirty Castiel, Flirty Dean Winchester, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Midterms 2018, Passionate Castiel, Politically Involved Castiel, Politically Involved Sam Winchester, Sam and Eileen are married and have a daughter, Tevas, Voter Apathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 11:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16533299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Dean Winchester has lived in Texas his whole life, and has seen it go red time after time, election after election. He never gave it a thought that there was something he could do to make a difference.But then Sam drags him to a rally, where he meets someone who shows that one person can do just that. And the best way is to lead through example.





	Electing to Care

**Author's Note:**

> So because my unconscious hates sleep, it thought of this idea and turned it over for two hours before facing exhaustion.
> 
> Heavily inspired by the political climate, Misha, and Midterms 2018 #GoVote

            There weren’t many things Dean Winchester would wake up early for. Work was a given, although ‘early’ is a fluid concept when you’re the owner of your own business. Some days a simple text saves him an hour or two from actually having to open his shop. Emergencies, as well, can rouse him from sleep much sooner than he’d like. His wants taking a backseat to the needs of his family and friends. However, on this morning – a morning of a rare _day-off_ – it was neither of these two options that forced him to watch the wide, Texas sky bleed from marmalade to robin’s egg, jumping the chasm of the color wheel. The reason he’s conscious was because of a third, more sinister reason.

            _Sam’s puppy-dog eyes_.

            “Please, Dean,” his brother had begged him over dinner last night, “Eileen’s flight was cancelled, so she and Siobhan won’t be back until tomorrow _night_.” His wife and daughter were visiting with relatives over in Georgia, Sam exempt from travel because of a case. And while it wasn’t to be a long trip, their reunion has been forestalled by the reputed reliability of Delta airlines.

            Dean was nonplussed. “I don’t see why you can’t do this by yourself?”

            Sam sighed and started to explain, his fingers racing to keep up – a habit hard to break even while his wife’s eyes weren’t there. Dean couldn’t blame him, finding his own hands forming words seconds after he spoke. Although in contrast to Sam’s plea, Dean’s use of signs was centered on a key one: ‘no’.

            It was only when his brother pulled out his secret weapon that Dean finally surrendered, weakly nodding both head and fist.

            Which explains why he’s trapped in a crowd with strangers, his brother, and a half-empty tumbler of coffee barely doing its job.

            Even rubbing at his eyes under his shades doesn’t help. “Christ, Sammy,” Dean grouses, “How can you stand things like these?”

            His brother is too cheery for a man missing a wife. The night before he was like a dog waiting for its master to return home. And now, his tail is wagging as if Dean brought him to the park along with all the other pets. Sam turns to him, breaking from conversation with another group of young twenty-somethings. “It’s for a good cause,” he shrugs, “We’re all interested in the same thing.”

            Dean chuckles. “Yeah, surprisingly.” He casts another glance around at the crowd, amazed by the amount of Democrats who happen to live in Texas. When they first arrived at the park, Dean had expected twenty people at the most and five minutes before Sam sighed and freed him. What he wasn’t counting on was for people to show up. Now it’s been a half-hour since the thing was supposed to start, and Dean’s been gnawing on his arm like a trapped coyote.

            “What’s everyone waiting for anyway?”

            “This usually happens,” Sam tells him, “the guy running the rally gets caught up in talking to people he loses track of time.”

            Dean rolls his eyes. “Of course. Some two-bit politician in a three-piece suit, making sure ‘ _he’s got our vote’_!” Sam doesn’t appreciate the jab, shooting him a bitch-face reminiscent of the time Dean sewed the cuffs of _all_ his pants three inches shorter than they were. “It wasn’t funny, dude,” Sam snapped at him after work, “I had a meeting with my boss and all she could stare at were my _ankles_!” Dean couldn’t hear him over his own laughter.

            “He’s not like that,” Sam says, “Cas is pretty cool.”

            “ _Cas_ – you know the guy well?”

            “We’ve had a few conversations.” Sam smiles, gazing up towards the makeshift stage where a few people were milling about. “He actually started this organization himself, y’know, after the election.” Sam points to his white t-shirt, where the words ‘I Got the Blues’ stand out in fierce cobalt. There was another, similar shirt crumpled in the backseat of Baby, where Dean had tossed it, preferring his own black tee. “Wanted to be a part of the ‘rising Blue Wave in Texas’ as he called it.”

            Dean scoffs. “More power to him, but he _does_ know Austin’s an anomaly, right? There’s not enough of a differing majority to make Texas look like anything else but an ugly, red sunburn – unfortunately.” He notices a few people shoot him some ugly looks, and he ignores them.

            Sam offers another reproachful look. “We came close. And with everything happening, especially in our own _state_ , lots of people are looking to jump ship. You remember that protest against detention camps Eileen and I went to a month and a half ago?” How could Dean forget – it’s not everyday he gets a FaceTime from his sister-in-law telling him his baby brother was in jail. “We _outnumbered_ the counter-protesters _ten to one_! You couldn’t even hear them. And – get this – _Cas_ organized the whole thing.”

            “He’s really working hard for his votes.”

            “God, Dean, do you even follow the news?”

            “No – why?”

            “Cas isn’t running for any office.”

            “Wait,” Dean says, “you’re telling me this guy has nothing to gain from… _any_ of this? Then why’s he putting in all this work?”

            Sam smiles again, a small one usually given to babies or toddlers when asking things like ‘why is the grass green’. “Because he just _cares_.”

            The words struck Dean into a sort of silence. Sam leaves him for a bit, then, ambling over to a few other people he knows. Which is fine with him, as he needs the solitude to process his thoughts.

            Caring is something Dean thought was antithetical to today’s society. What with everything going on in and around the world, numbing yourself was the only way to survive. Dean treated everything outside his personal sphere with a cool indifference. He has his opinions, but he can’t work up the energy to voice them anymore. No matter what, it always felt like he was being drowned out or being proven wrong. ‘Bisexuality is a real thing, dad’ is met with ‘you’ll find a nice girl someday’. ‘Stanford is so far away, Sammy’ seemed like a good argument at the time, but now that his brother is back with a good job and loving family, is now just a bad memory. ‘We can make it work, Lisa’ never had any foothold in reality. It’s why he hasn’t voted in a long time, since his vote won’t make a difference whether Texas finally breaks with tradition or stay entrenched in their past.

            Thankfully, he’s saved from drowning in his musings by the projected tapping of a life preserver. Dean refocuses on the stage as Sam makes his way back towards him. “Is it starting?” he asks.

            “Yep.” He points, “That right there is Cas.”

            Cas is… not what he was expecting. Given that he knows enough about politics to fill a leaky barrel, his mind crafted a caricature of a man. He thought he’d see a balding, somewhat pudgy guy waddle his way up the steps in a suit or – worse – a button-down with the sleeves rolled up so he can ‘get to work’. Instead, Cas is an average guy. He has a full head of dark hair that looks as styled as his own. And his choice in clothes is a mix of stuff Dean is sure is in his own closet. Aside from the ‘I Got the Blues’ in reverse colors, Cas has on a brown-and-blue plaid shirt, some khaki shorts and…

            “What kind of hippie sandals are those?”

            Sam scoffs at him. “Those are Tevas.”

            “Te-what now?”

            “Tevas,” Sam says, “they’re more than just a sandal. You can do a lot in ‘em like hike, bike, rock climb –“

            “So what you’re saying is you own a pair, too?”

            His response to Dean’s jab is very suspicious blanching. “Just shut up and watch…”

            He does. Not because Sam told him to but because Cas still had a surprise or two up his sleeves, like his voice. It was as gravelly as the road he and Sam would bike to reach the lake near their Uncle’s property every summer when they were still kids. And just as treacherous. One time Dean was tossed on his ass because he wasn’t paying attention, and the pebbles dug enough into his skin to scrape. He’s dealing with a similarly uncomfortable sensation. Except the only _scraping_ caused by Cas’s coarse baritone is Dean’s dick at his zipper. ‘ _Probably the worst thing to do at a rally_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _is popping a boner_.’

            Dean wills for his dick to stop pounding at the gate, regretting his decision to forgo underwear. “It’s warm,” he remembers saying earlier, “and I’ll be back in my sweats soon enough. Why waste a pair?” ‘ _What a fool I was…_ ’

            “Hey, could you stop?” Sam whispers to him, eyes whipping back and forth between him and Cas, “I know this isn’t your thing but at least try to look like you’re having a good time – for me?”

            ‘ _You don’t even want to **know** the horrible good time I’m having here, Sammy_.’ Still, for his brother, he musters up enough strength to grimace as Cas wraps up his speech. He motions for someone else, a woman, to come to the stand. They shake hands and hug, and he moves off to the side so she can have everyone’s attention.

            Except his eyes stay on Cas. He should be relieved now that the man’s siren song was over, except Dean’s left still spellbound. The woman was an easy out – Dean could have focused completely on her and her platform and depressed himself thoroughly enough to wilt his crotch. But no matter how hard he tries, he finds himself looking back over towards the other man.

            Watching him, Dean sees he’s completely enraptured with what she has to say. His body is turned toward her, profile blocking out the heavy sun, making it near blinding to gaze at him for too long. Dean was never one to shy from a challenge. If he stared long enough, he looked a lot like the saint Sam and others probably thinks he is.

            Without realizing, the crowd starts clapping and Dean is dragged from his contemplation. Sam hollers and cheers with the rest of them, nudging him to do the same. He nestles his coffee between his elbow and chest and claps.

            “Thank you,” Cas takes the microphone again, “That was as inspiring and empowering as always. Now, remember folks, if we want to get her elected to office, we need to –“ the crowd responds, “Vote!” “You need to tell your friends to –“ “Vote!” “Your family?” “Vote!”

            “Because what do we got?”

            “We got the blues!” There’s another uproar, and Dean startles at the ferocity of it.

            Cas laughs at it. “Thank you. To get your strength up for the long battle to midterms, please go and grab some complimentary brunch – on us.”

            “Brunch?”

            Dean noticed the tables near the back of the event, where he was sure some volunteers would be staffed to get unknowing suckers into signing petitions. When he and Sam arrived, all he saw was a few clipboards stacked at the end of one of the tables before his brother was dragging him towards the front. But if Sam didn’t have to be _early_ to everything in his life, he might have been able to see the food being brought in. Or get a good place in line.

            Sam nods. “They always get somewhere good to cater. Since it’s brunch they might even have mimosas?”

            “Good,” Dean claps him on the back, “Hope you can carry all of it when you get back here.”

            “What?”

            “You brought me here,” Dean tells him, dialing up his own puppy-dog eyes, “It’s the least you could do.” They’re not as well executed as Sam’s but they get the job done. He’s enjoying the sight of Sam trudging into the crowd, getting smaller and smaller, when he feels a slight presence behind him.

            Dean doesn’t know what’s worse: that Cas is standing right there or that he’s even hotter up close. Details he couldn’t make out are now in sharp detail. Like the scruff dusting his chiseled jaw, or how his shirt clings tight, teasing at strong, defined muscles that are on display with his calves. Even now he’s at a loss because of the other man’s eyes – as blue as the party his shirt is touting.

            Cas holds a hand out to him. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Castiel Novak, but you can call me Cas.”

            “Dean,” he replies, “Dean Winchester.” Cas’s hands are calloused and warm, a nice feeling even in this torturous heat. “And yeah, this is my first time – _here_ , at a… my brother brought me.”

            “I take it your brother is Sam Winchester?”

            Dean raises a brow. “He’s talked about you,” Cas continues, explaining, “And I saw you two standing together in the crowd. Wasn’t that hard to put the pieces together.”

            “Yeah, he’s a hard one to miss.” He waits a beat, debating on what lie to use to exit the conversation before he ruins it. Only Cas isn’t as willing to let go as he is.

            “So, what did you think?”

            “Think of what?”

            “Of… this?”

            “Oh, um… it wasn’t that bad. Except it’s not really my thing…” Cas’s head tilts adorably, and Dean would appreciate it more if he wasn’t trying to forget the taste of his foot. Except it seems he’s not keen on taking it out of his mouth anytime soon. “Y’know, politics. I think you’re doing a nice thing but… I don’t know – I’ve never seen the point in Texas.”

            “Politics is everybody’s thing, Dean.” He winces, recognizing the tone in the other man’s voice as the one his teachers would use when he was caught ditching class. “Voting is what decides how this country is going to be run and by who. I mean, look at what happened two years ago. November is important because we need to reverse all that’s happened before it’s too late.”

            “But it’s like we’ve already been tossed in the crapper and flushed before we realized it,” Dean argues, “How can we climb out when we’re stuck in the sewers?” The analogy draws a smile to Cas’s lips.

            “I wouldn’t know,” he starts, “I’m not a plumber by trade.”

            “Really? Then what do you do besides… this?”

            “I’m a carpenter.” He gestures to the stage, “I actually built this myself with some leftover material from a few orders, as well as some recycled wood from old furniture.”

            “That’s… really cool,” Dean says, smiling, “I know a lot about tools, but not enough to do all _that_. But show me a car and I can strip and repair her in a _day_.”

            “Mechanic?”

            “Yeah, I own Singers’ Body Shop down on Enfield.”

            “I’ve heard good things about it – from your brother, actually,” Cas tells him, “He was helping me connect with some lawyers, to do some pro bono work with detained immigrants, and my truck was having a fit. My brother ended up bringing it over to a Jiffy Lube the day after, so I never got around to going.”

            “Damned chain stores,” Dean grouses, “If it’s the one I’m thinking of I’ll be seeing you soon enough.”

            Cas’s eyes twinkle at the thought. “I’m lucky you’d want to see me again after such a delightful first impression.”

            “Look, sorry if I’m a little grumpy.” Dean scrubs a hand down his face, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not because I don’t believe in what you’re doing, really. I think it’s cool. But… I don’t know if it’ll all work out, s’all. I saw how excited Sam and all our friends were when it looked like Hillary was going to win but then… he wouldn’t leave his house for a week. The world’s not gonna change enough in two years to ever fix _everything_ so what’s the point and… I don’t know, it’s probably me being stupid or – whatever.”

            “ _Dean_.” He looks up, Cas’s voice sighing in such a fond way his heart skipping over itself at the sound. “What you’re experiencing isn’t rare. Voter apathy is a terrible affliction, one that persists thanks to the machinations of others. The people in power who don’t deserve their positions have coasted on it for years, disenfranchising constituents so there won’t be any opposition. That’s what I fight against by hosting these rallies, registering voters, and staging protests – making it so people _care_ again.”

            “Sounds like a hard job.”

            Cas smiles with his gums. “That’s easy. The tough part is when it comes time to vote – hoping that I’ve done enough to turn out enough people at the polls.”

            Dean looks over at the sprawling crowd, watching them mingle with each other. People of different races, young and old, smiling and laughing like there’s nothing waiting for them in the newspaper or on Twitter that’ll send them into a spiral. “From the looks of things, you might just do it.” He feels something flutter in his chest, and a warm feeling oozes its way down like butter on a warm slice of toast.

            “And you?”

            He turns back to Cas. “What about me?”

            “Will you be voting?”

            Dean wishes he wasn’t facing Cas. It’s hard to crush the dreams of the good-looking man with a kind heart when you’re swimming in his eyes. His face turns red, and he focuses more on Cas’s mouth when he says, “…I’m not sure.”

            He gets a clear view of when Cas frowns. “What I mean is,” Dean continues, “I haven’t voted in awhile… not even sure I’m registered…”

            “That’s an easy fix, Dean,” Cas says, “the deadline is months away and –“

            “Why does it matter, anyway?” he asks, voice small, “My vote won’t make a difference…”

            “ _All_ votes make a difference, Dean,” Cas tells him, Dean’s self-doubt like oil spilling into the sea of his eyes, his passionate response setting it all terrifyingly ablaze. “Yes, it is just one vote but it helps raise up all the others. Your vote is like your voice, and if enough people shout it can get people’s attention. Even if we end up losing, if we make the margin as thin as possible – people will notice. Although, I have good faith all the people who’ve been taking a back seat for so long are no longer willing to let others drive for them.”

            Sam was wrong, back then, when he said Cas ‘just cares’. Because from what he’s seen, Cas doesn’t do anything in ‘justs’. His actions are absolutes. His words are truths. And God help everyone if his dreams aren’t reality. He pours his heart into his work and into people, and makes everything shine like they’ve gotten a fresh coat of varnish. Even now, Dean feels his own storm clouds lightening, as if Cas’s bright disposition is forcing them out.

            “You sure?” Dean asks, teasingly, “Getting me to vote could be a point for the other side…”

            Cas huffs. “Really, Dean, I find that hard to believe.”

            Dean isn’t done playing with him. “Well, y’know, I haven’t really been paying attention to the news lately, I might just pick the names I like the most. I like cruising in my car, so maybe I’ll vote for –“

            “If you’d like,” Cas cuts him off, his own impish grin plastered to his face, “I could make a helpful suggestion?”

            “Oh?”

            Cas takes a step closer. The extra foot of distance was a barrier keeping all of Dean’s senses and wits about him. Now Cas has the higher ground. “I’m not doing anything later tonight. We could meet up for dinner, somewhere casual, and I could explain the current political climate,” his voice takes on a breathy quality, “just… like… _this_.”

            Dean nearly falls apart at the seams. The only thing keeping him together is that he has to respond. But his tongue has a stranglehold on his brain, and not much gets through. “You – you would?”

            “Of course,” Cas says, “I find it’s best to… _act_ , rather then letting opportunities slip away. I wouldn’t be _wrong_ in thinking that you’re interested in… _voting_.” Dean whines low in his throat. “And maybe after we can take it back to my place and discuss,” his hand brushes across Dean’s crotch, “polls.”

            It’s too much for Dean – and too good to be true. “You don’t,” he huffs, trying to get control of himself, “You don’t just say that to any pretty face at a rally, do you?”

            Cas doesn’t get offended, instead chuckling at Dean’s question. “I couldn’t say, I’ve never actually seen anyone with as pretty a face as yours come to one of my events.”

            “Really?”

            “It wasn’t Sam that I noticed _first_ in the crowd.” That hits all of Dean’s spots, and nearly has him seeing stars. But as quickly as Cas’s advances started, he takes a step back, allowing Dean the lungful of air he so desperately needed. However, his smile doesn’t dim. “Here, take this.” Cas hands him a business card. “You can text me so I’ll have your number, and we can go from there. It was a real… _pleasure_ , meeting you, Dean.”

            Dean responds with a meek, “You, too.”

            Cas moves back towards the stage, towards a group of people, as if nothing happened. He does get a noogie from a smaller, blond man, and Dean’s only sure it’s because of what happened when he winks at Dean while suggestively licking his lollipop. Dean doesn’t watch them for much longer.

            At least Sam chooses then to walk back. “So they were out of drinks,” he said, handing Dean a plate, “but I managed to get eggs and some pancakes for us. Although that’s all the bacon I could get and – Dean, are you listening?”

            “Huh?”

            “Are you all right?” Sam asks, fork held steady in the air, waiting to see if it would continue in its quest for food or be held off by something else.

            Dean shakes himself out of his daze. “What? Yeah, yeah I’m fine – thanks…”

            Sam lets it go. But halfway through his meal, Dean, who can’t leave well-enough alone, bothers him again.

            “Hey Sam, can you tell me more about this whole…” he waves with his fork, “I Got the Blues thing?”

 

_Epilogue – November 6, 2018_

            Dean steps out from the building, a sticker tacked onto his shirt, smiling. It brightens when he spies a familiar figure leaning up against Baby. “Hey,” he calls out, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be harassing people to do their ‘civic duty’?”

            Cas chuckles and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. “I was, and will be. Wanted to check up on you is all.” He places a firm kiss to Dean’s lips, nipping at them, begging for entrance. He lets him in. After a good few minutes of making out, they pull away. “So,” he asks, nose pressed to nose, “what did you think?”

            “About the kiss or voting?”

            “I already know you love my kisses.” He gives Dean another one, tacked onto the end of his sentence like a period, to prove a point. “How do you feel now that you’ve voted?”

            “It feels – well… it feels like…”

            “Like…?”

            “Like nothing’s changed.”

            Cas leans back, disbelief etched into his face. “Excuse me?” he asks, “What do you mean nothing’s –“ He cuts himself off, noticing the Cheshire grin Dean has failed to reign in. “You little shit.”

            “What?”

            “Why is it you like to get a rise out of me?”

            “I don’t _like_ getting a rise out of you.” Even he knows it’s a lie, and doesn’t need to see the shrewd look in Cas’s eyes. But playing dumb has its rewards, and Dean loves to reap them. “And anyway, I’m not totally _wrong_. We won’t find out who won until later tonight so really, nothing _has_ changed.”

            “You’re so obstinate.”

            “Am not.”

            “This is just like the Tevas all over again.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            Cas huffs out a laugh. “You said they were ugly, stupid, and even more hippie than Birkenstocks.”

            “And?”

            “You’re wearing them right now!” Dean bites down on his lower lip, stuffing his smile down like an overflowing envelope as he peeks down at his feet. Like Cas said, Dean has his own tan pair on. The other man bought them for Dean when he tried Cas’s on. He was very vocal about not liking them, but Cas could see past the front Dean put up.

            “Well I didn’t have any other shoes to wear because _somebody_ hid them on me,” he lies, letting his smile bloom like a spring flower at how Cas rolls his eyes. “At least I don’t have to work in these, otherwise you’d _really_ be getting an earful.” Another good thing about being your own boss – if he wanted to make sure his employees went out and voted, close the shop and make your day’s pay be dependent on whether or not they get a sticker.

            “At least one of us has the rest of their day free,” Cas sighs, “I still need to check in with everyone and do a few more sweeps to make sure people engaged in the democratic process.”

            “You love it though.”

            “Yeah.”

            “And hey, when you’re done, come to my place,” Dean tells him, “we can get in a good mood and examine some _polls_.” Cas’s laughter still sends a shiver down his spine.

            “I’ll do just that.” They stare at each other, saying everything they ever need to with their silence. Cas pecks Dean on the lips one last time. “I should get going.”

            “You should.”

            It’s another five minutes before he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Ya like? Then please drop a kudos and/or a comment!
> 
> And whether you liked it or not, PLEASE remember to VOTE on November 6, 2018!!!


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